by Linda Reilly
By twelve thirty, she was tired, achy, and hungry. Her jeans were dusty. Her hair felt grimy.
“I don’t know about you, Aunt Fran,” Lara said, flopping onto a kitchen chair, “but I am officially starving. How about I pop down to the coffee shop and pick up a few BLTs for us? I’m in the mood for some of Daisy’s creamy potato salad, too. Unless you’d like to join me and pay Sherry and Daisy a visit?”
Aunt Fran had spent the morning going over old invoices and correspondence that had collected on her desk. She’d hoped to dispose of most of it, keeping only what was current. Lara was pleased to see she already had a large stack ready for the recycling bin.
“Honestly, I’d love to come with,” Aunt Fran said. “But my internal engine is sputtering a bit today. I think I’ll stretch out and read for a while. Would you mind getting mine to go? You can sit and visit with Sherry for a while and enjoy your lunch there first.”
Lara wanted to protest, but saw that it would be futile. Besides, she didn’t want to press her aunt into doing something that would put extra strain on her knees.
Her dwindling debit account was another matter. By now it was hovering close to the danger zone. She had a small savings account from which she could borrow, but crossed her fingers that it wouldn’t come to that.
“Okay. That sounds like a plan,” Lara agreed. She rose from her chair and went over and plopped a light kiss on her aunt’s cheek. “But I won’t stay long, I promise. I just need a little break, okay?”
“I think you’ve done enough work today,” her aunt chided lightly, a smile on her face. “When you get back from lunch, why don’t you do more of your watercolors? I can tell you’re itching to get back to it.”
Lara glanced outside the kitchen window. “Not a bad idea,” she said. “It does look nice out today. Maybe when I get back, I’ll bring my pencils outside and do some sketching. I often sketch a scene before I paint a watercolor of it.”
She grabbed her jacket from the front hall closet. Something tickled her brain—something she was supposed to do. She reached into the pocket and groaned. Darn. That was it—she’d forgotten to charge her cell. And she’d even made a mental note to do it!
With only a 12 percent charge left on the battery, it wasn’t worth taking it with her. “That’s what I get for leaving it in my pocket,” she grumbled to herself.
Lara went into the kitchen, where she’d left her charger. She plugged the phone into the wall socket and set the cell phone on the Formica table.
Her aunt smiled at the phone. “Do I need to watch it?”
“No.” Lara crinkled her brow and smiled at her aunt. “Aunt Fran, you don’t have a cell phone, do you?” she asked.
Her aunt held up her hands and shrugged. “No, I don’t. I figured it was one more thing I didn’t need to pay for.”
Hmm, Lara thought. Aunt Fran lived alone with two bad knees and a slew of cats as roommates. What if she fell and couldn’t reach her landline? Who would call 9-1-1?
It was something she should probably talk to her about before she headed back to Boston.
She went upstairs to her room, where she removed her grimy jeans and her ancient, pill-dotted sweater. She dumped them both in a pile for the wash and pulled out a fresh pair of jeans. From her suitcase, she dug out a clean top, which just happened to be a floaty lavender tunic with flared sleeves and a lacy-edged hem.
She knew it was silly, but it made her feel better to gussy up a bit. She brushed her hair and put on her dangly parrot earrings.
Lara twirled once in the mirror. Not exactly the height of fashion. But it was better than what she’d been wearing when she’d been cleaning the house.
She strode along the sidewalk toward the coffee shop, the sky a crisp blue under a bright lemon sun. The distant hills, their brilliant autumn glow mostly a faded memory, still made for an impressive backdrop.
Her pace slowed as she reached the building that housed the coffee shop. Something caught in her throat—a mixture of pain and joy. She choked back a sudden rush of tears.
I wish I could stay longer, she thought. But I have a job. I have obligations.
She sucked in a lungful of air, hoping to cleanse away the melancholy. Then she smiled—was that a whiff of Daisy’s sugar cookies she detected? She increased her stride a bit.
When she passed before the façade of Kurl-me-Klassy, she halted. She spotted the bubbly Kellie Byrd through the storefront glass, fussing over the head of a petite, white-haired woman. Lara knocked lightly on the window and waved to the stylist.
Kellie jerked her head toward the window. When she spied Lara, she opened her mouth and closed it again. Only after several seconds did she nod and offer a halfhearted wave. She turned back to her elderly customer without another glance.
Lara frowned. Had Kellie just given her the cold shoulder?
No, she’d probably imagined it. She pulled open the door of the coffee shop, her mood lifting instantly.
“There she is!” Sherry shrieked from behind the counter.
Lara cringed. She adored Sherry, but sometimes her friend could be a bit too boisterous with her greetings.
“Hey,” Lara said, sliding onto a stool at the counter. She was grateful to see that the cranky Mr. Patello was absent today, as was his friend Herbie.
“Everyone’s been talking about Glen,” Sherry hissed, leaning toward Lara. She poured her a cup of coffee and shoved a bowl of half-and-half packets at her. “What do you want for lunch?”
“BLT on toasted wheat with a side of potato salad. Pack up another one exactly like it for Aunt Fran. And don’t skimp on the potato salad.”
“Yeah, like I would,” Sherry said tartly.
“So, what are the police saying?” Lara prodded.
Sherry shook her head. This time she spoke quietly. “They think Glen might have overdosed on his own heart medication. On purpose. No one’s exactly come out and said it yet, but I heard Chief Whitley muttering something to the state police guy when they were paying for breakfast this morning.”
“But…don’t they still need autopsy results?”
“Of course, they do. But I heard the state police guy say they wanted to wrap this one up fast. Having an unsolved murder on the books is bad for the cops, bad for the town. If they can pin it on Glen…?” She lifted her shoulders in a theatrical shrug.
“Wait a minute. Are you saying the police think Glen killed Theo?”
Sherry nodded. “Yup. I’m almost positive that’s what they were saying.”
Lara still felt skeptical. “I can’t believe they want to just pin it on someone, Sher. I mean, wouldn’t they want the real murderer caught?”
Sherry leaned forward and spoke out one side of her mouth. She reminded Lara of a spy from the 1940s. “Here’s the thing. They found a note in Glen’s car. I don’t know what it said, but I think it was a confession. It was written on one of our napkins—he did that all the time. He was always walking out with handfuls of them, poor slob. He was kind of a hoarder, you know? His car always looked like an explosion in a candy factory, with wrappers and half-eaten junk all over the place.”
A napkin? Interesting, thought Lara. The “Midnight Mary” note had been written on a napkin. Or torn off from a napkin, anyway. It was still in her wastebasket back in her bedroom. She’d have to check it out when she got back to her aunt’s.
Her coffee was cooling. She plunked a container of half-and-half in it and stirred, her thoughts jumping around in her head like grasshoppers.
Had Sherry heard the police correctly? Had Glen written a napkin note confessing to Barnes’s murder?
Glen definitely had motive. Barnes had tossed him out of his dreary apartment with barely a day’s notice. How humiliating to be living out of his car, especially when he was nursing a bad crush on Mary.
Of course, there was always another possibility. What if Sherry had heard it all wrong? It was easy to misinterpret something when you were eavesdropping on a private conversation. If
that were the case, the police would still be looking for the killer.
Lara was mulling this over her first sip of coffee when she felt someone’s gaze on her. She looked up to see a man sitting in the far corner of the coffee shop grinning in her direction.
Oh, God. It’s him—Gideon Halley.
Should she acknowledge that she saw him? Or should she pretend she couldn’t see that far?
Or should she act like an adult instead of a teenager and wave to her old friend?
She flashed a smile and waved to Gideon. He held up one finger, signaling that he was coming over to see her. Within seconds he’d closed his laptop, stuck it in his sporty canvas briefcase, and wended his way over to Lara. He looked spiffy in a business casual sort of way. Neatly pressed charcoal chinos, crisp tan shirt under a hunter-green sweater. Was that a typical fashion ensemble for a country lawyer?
Lara felt her heartbeat rev up.
Gideon slid onto the stool beside her, his chocolate-brown eyes beaming. “My word, it’s good to see you again,” he said, his voice deep and resonant.
“You saw me yesterday, remember?”
“I know, but I didn’t have time to greet you properly. Lara, you look fantastic.”
Lara felt her mouth widening into a clownish grin. Could she look any dopier? “It’s great to see you, too, Gideon. How’ve you been doing these days?”
“Doing great,” he said. “Hey, can I give you a hug?”
A flash of warmth flooded Lara’s face. “Um…well, sure, why not.”
Gideon reached over and slipped an arm around Lara, his briefcase clutched in his hand between them. The hug was quick, but warm and sweet. “Hey, sorry I couldn’t stop to chat yesterday, but I was running a tad late for a client meeting and had to hustle back to my office.”
“No problem,” Lara assured him. “So you’re a lawyer now?”
“Yep,” he said, without elaborating. “Tell me, what brings you back to Whisker Jog? Visiting your aunt?”
“Exactly.” She saw no reason to mention the cats. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been up to New Hampshire. I’m starting to get reacquainted with everything.”
Gideon sat for a moment and stared at her. It almost seemed as if he couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Lara Caphart, as I live and breathe,” he finally said. “Or do you have another name these days?”
Was that a clever way of finding out if Lara was married?
Oh, who was she to talk? She’d already sneaked a peek at his left hand. Bare, she was pleased to note. Not that it mattered.
“No, it’s still Caphart.” Lara took a swig of her coffee to hide her smile.
“You live in Boston now, right?”
“Correct. And don’t go giving me that down-home, country-boy act, Gideon Halley,” Lara said with mock severity. “Word on the street is that you’re one heckuva sharp lawyer.”
Gideon made a comical face. “Well, if it’s all over the street…” He laughed.
Sherry sidled over and set Lara’s luncheon plate in front of her. “Hi, Gid.”
“Hi, Sher.”
Sherry turned and scooted away before Lara could beg another coffee refill.
“Hey, look,” Gideon said, “I can see I’m interrupting your lunch, and I have a client meeting at two to prepare for.”
“On Saturday?”
He shrugged. “A lawyer’s work is never done.” He tugged at his left sleeve and glanced at his watch. Unless Lara was seeing things, it was a vintage Superman watch. “Are you…going to be in town for a while?” he asked her.
Lara felt herself droop. “I’m not sure. I’m trying to help Aunt Fran with a few things. I’m playing it loose, as they say.”
“Okay, how about this? If you’re still here on Monday, do you think you could squeeze in a lunch date with me? Well, I don’t mean a date exactly,” he added quickly, a faint blush tinting his cheekbones. “Just a—”
“I’d like that,” Lara said, saving him from stumbling over his words. Some sharp lawyer he was. “We can catch up and chat about old times. I’ll have to let you know, though.”
“Oh, good. Great!” He looked oddly relieved.
Lara gave him her cell-phone number. Gideon handed her a business card and went on his way.
Sherry appeared magically at the counter, coffeepot in hand. She gave Lara a top-off.
“Were you eavesdropping?” Lara accused, trying to sound miffed.
“Get a grip,” Sherry said, and then giggled. She looked all around, then leaned closer to Lara. With her other hand, she plopped a brown paper bag on the counter. “I think somebody liiikes you,” she singsonged.
Lara balled up a napkin and tossed it at her. “And I think somebody needs to mind her own business. You never told me you and Gideon were so buddy-buddy.”
Sherry shrugged. “Hey, the man eats here at least twice a week. You want me to ignore him?”
“No,” Lara groused. “I…assume the man in question is unattached?”
“As free as a young robin,” Sherry confirmed. “At least, as far as I know.” She squelched a smile, but then her expression turned sober. “Lara, let’s get serious. Not kidding around anymore, okay?”
“Um, okay.”
“How important is it that you go back to Boston? I mean, we have some wonderful art galleries in New Hampshire. I’m sure you’d be able to show your work in one of them. And think of how happy it would make Fran if you stayed in Whisker Jog.”
“Are you trying to lay a guilt trip on me?”
If she was, it was working. More than Lara wanted to admit.
“That would be my normal M.O.,” Sherry admitted. “But I’ve given it a lot of thought, and…you know what? I have to call it like I see it. You’ve been so in your element these past few days. You bop around to the stores like you’ve never been away. And I don’t have to be at your aunt’s house to see how much of a difference you’ve made in her life. It shows in your face. And you already found a hairstylist who does a great job with those ridiculously gorgeous curls you’re always whining about.”
“Yeah, well, I appreciate the compliment, but I’m not so sure Kellie wants me as a customer any longer. When I waved to her this morning through the window, she looked less than thrilled. She waved back, but it was like someone had to twist her arm to do it.”
“Really? That’s weird. Definitely strange for Kellie.”
Sherry excused herself to help a customer who wanted to pay his tab. “Thank you, and have an awesome day!” she warbled to the man.
She turned back to Lara and lowered her voice. “Okay, where was I? Oh, yeah—Kellie. I’m, like, ninety-nine percent sure Kellie didn’t snub you. Why would she?”
“Well, yesterday when Kellie was cutting my hair, Josette Barnes came in. I kinda sorta asked Josette if she was shocked about getting back to New Hampshire Thursday morning and finding out Barnes had been murdered.”
Sherry winced. “She thought you were accusing her of offing him, right?”
“Not exactly. But she acted like I was trying to extract information from her.”
“Were you?”
Lara thought to herself, and then groaned. “Oh God, I probably was. It just seemed like way too much of a coincidence that the man she despised was murdered on the one night she was out of town. Doesn’t that strike you as weird?”
“I hear you,” Sherry said. “But if I were you, I’d lay off with the questions. Josette’s a sweetheart, in spite of being a ninny and marrying Theo Barnes. Let me tell you, she deserves every penny of that lump-sum alimony payment she’ll be getting. I hope she gets it real soon.”
“There’s something else,” Lara said. “Kellie told me she was being kicked out of her space by the end of the year.”
“Yeah, we all are.” Sherry gave her an incredulous look. “Mom and I told you about it, remember?”
“I remember. At the time, though, I didn’t know Kellie. I gathered from what she said that she’s seriously ticked
off about having to relocate. She told me she hasn’t found another place yet. It’s stressing her out.”
Sherry shifted her gaze around the coffee shop. Only two of the tables were occupied, and a sole diner sat reading a tabloid at the other end of the counter.
“Lara,” she said in a low tone. “Maybe it would be best if you stopped asking questions. People can get the wrong idea, you know?”
“Wh…what?” Lara sputtered. “I can’t believe you said that. First of all, I didn’t ask Kellie anything. She volunteered the information. Second of all, I—”
“Calm down, Lara. I’m only saying that you’re not with the cops, so let them do their thang, as they say, and find the killer on their own—if they haven’t already. In my humble opinion, they have.”
Lara stared down at her untouched BLT. She jabbed a fork into her potato salad and shoved it into her mouth.
Sherry waited while she swallowed. Finally, she heaved out a sigh. “Listen, Lara, I’m not trying to give you a hard time. Just think about what I said, okay? About Boston? The other stuff doesn’t matter. The cops’ll sort it all out.”
Lara ate the rest of her lunch in silence, while Sherry busied herself rounding up dirty plates and utensils. She couldn’t stop thinking about everything Sherry had said.
The other stuff does matter, she thought. It mattered that a man had been murdered. It mattered that no one had been arrested for the crime.
Unless Glen really had been the killer. In which case the matter should be closed.
If the police could prove Glen had murdered Barnes, it would wrap things up in a neat little bow. Her aunt would escape the cloak of suspicion. And Lara could focus on finding a way to help her care for the cats.
The cats.
Lara was going to miss them terribly after she left. Even if she paid her aunt monthly visits, she’d be thinking about all of them while she was in Boston. She’d miss their comforting presence. She’d wonder if Ballou was making progress. Sure, Aunt Fran would give her updates. But it wouldn’t be the same as seeing it with her own eyes.
Lara’s thoughts bounced to Blue. She wondered what Sherry would say if she told her about the reappearance of the blue-eyed kitty.
